


The Reluctant Marriage

by crochetaway



Series: Drabbles and OneShots [37]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, F/M, LF2018, Lemons, Post-War, Smut, marriage law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 08:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13854192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crochetaway/pseuds/crochetaway
Summary: Hermione and Thorfinn have a reluctant marriage, which hinges on Hermione becoming pregnant. When Thorfinn wants nothing to do with her, Hermione takes drastic steps.





	The Reluctant Marriage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexandraO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraO/gifts).



> **A/N: A gift for the lovely AlexandraO for Love Fest 2018! #lf2018. No beta here, all mistakes are mine.**
> 
> **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 

“Prisoner 76543!” 

Hermione Granger jolted awake at the sound of her prison number being called. She stumbled out of her cot and stood at her cell door. A guard was standing there, waiting for her. Someone she didn’t recognize, not the normal guard for her floor.

“Who are you?” Hermione asked, peering into the man’s dark eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. Turn around so I can cuff you.”

Hermione sighed and turned around, sticking both hands through the bars of the door so he could slip the magic-draining cuffs around her wrists. That done, she turned back around as the door opened. The guard grabbed her upper arm and pulled her forward, guiding her toward the lift.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked.

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter,” the guard replied flatly.

Hermione frowned as they made their way through the prison. She hadn’t imagined her life turning out this, they won the ‘war’. Supposedly. Yet she and Ron were languishing in Azkaban. Harry had died in the final battle, directly after Voldemort. The prophecy was misinterpreted, obviously. ‘Neither can live, while the other survives.’ They couldn’t live without the other, so either constant war between the two factions or they both died. She and Ron were prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for both their break-in and robbery of Dolores Umbridge at the Ministry and at Gringotts. Ron had whined and complained the entire time, but Hermione had resolved herself to her fate. They had broken the law, they deserved to be punished. Even if it was in a time of war. 

They finally ended up in the visitor’s room and Hermione found herself face-to-face with the current Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Kings,” Hermione nodded at him. She sat on the edge of the old wooden chair, her hands still cuffed behind her back.

Kingsley frowned, and addressed the guard, “Can’t we remove the cuffs? She’s hardly a danger to anyone.”

“Can’t. Policy dictates that they stay,” the guard answered in his monotone. 

Hermione shrugged, she was used to the policies of Azkaban these days. It was run much more like a Muggle prison, and the dementors were long gone. It had been five long years since she’d been imprisoned and she had another fifteen on her sentence. The Goblins did not take to thieves lightly.

“Fine,” Kingsley huffed and sat opposite her. “Well, I have good news for you, Miss Granger.”

Hermione lifted her brow. Was her sentence getting reduced? Even better, had it been overturned?

“You are being released. Today.”

“Really? Why? What happened? Will I be on parole?” 

“Sort of,” Kingsley hedged and Hermione frowned at him. She didn’t like how he was suddenly not meeting her eye.

“What’s going on, Kings?” 

“A law has been passed because the birth rate post-war has been shit. The economy is shit and people are scared. So the Wizengamot in all its infinite wisdom,” Kingsley said the last bit with quite a bit of sarcasm in his voice, “have decided to pass a marriage law. The positives of this is that they are emptying Azkaban of anyone who is not a pure-blood so they can participate in the marriage law. So you get to be free.”

“Who are they making me marry?” Hermione asked.

“Well, actually, you are already married. The parchmentwork was signed this morning. Congratulations.” 

“Who, Kingsley?” 

“Thorfinn Rowle.”

Hermione grimaced. “That big, dumb Death Eater? Merlin, they might as well have married me to Gregory Goyle.” 

“He’s an Auror now,” Kingsley said as if that made a difference.

“Bully for him.”

“Well, I’m here to take you to your new accommodations. I hear Rowle has done a lot to bring Rowle Rock up to the modern era.”

“Modern for pure-bloods tends to peak around 1860,” Hermione groused. 

* * *

Kingsley deposited Hermione at Rowle Rock with nothing more than the clothing she had been wearing to court the day her sentence was decided. It was an ill-fitting five year out of date dress robe in a boring brown. Apparently, prison food was bad for her, because the robe was way too small. Nobody seemed to be at Rowle Rock when she arrived, and Kingsley had dropped her at the front door and left. 

“Hello?” Hermione called out into the massive house.

Nobody responded.  _ Well, this is just lovely. And ill-organized. _ Just like the Ministry. She huffed and decided she could do with exploring the house to see what it offered. Maybe she’d even find a closet full of clothes that actually fit her. She peeked into all the rooms on the first floor, all standard public rooms, parlours, a large and small dining room, a library that was larger than she had expected knowing who owned the house and a kitchen. All were completely empty. She didn’t even see a house elf. So she climbed the stairs to the second floor and was met with a corridor of closed doors. She started on her left and began opening them. Most were empty bedrooms, a couple of storerooms. She was almost the entire way through the second floor and hadn’t come across a single living thing. Maybe Kingsley had brought her to the wrong house? 

She opened the next door and the sight before her stopped her dead in her tracks. There was a gorgeously muscled man lifting weights. His back was to her, but he was facing a mirror and Hermione could see herself just behind him. Her mouth hanging open unattractively. The man was lifting a barbell with huge weights on either side from his shoulders above his head. Hermione didn’t know what the move was called, but she appreciated the way his muscles moved and contracted under his glistening skin. He was huge, a mountain of a man, and unbidden, Hermione imagined what he’d look like settled between her thighs. She clenched her legs together in an attempt to ease the sudden ache she had. Merlin, he was beautiful. He had a pair of old Quidditch shorts on and trainers and that was it. His hair was pulled back into a bun and she could see his chest in the mirror and his back in front of her and it was a sensory overload. 

“Just going to stand there and stare, darling?” 

“Um…” Hermione trailed off as he dropped the weights to the floor and turned to face her. 

“Mousy little thing, aren’t you?” he asked, sneering at her. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve been in prison for five years. The only thing I have to my name is the clothes I was wearing to my last hearing,” she spat.

“Woah, calm down there, little mouse. We might be able to find something a little less… frumpy for you to wear.” He began walking toward her and Hermione retreated rapidly.

“You’re Rowle than?” she asked as her back hit the wall on the other side of the corridor. Rowle finally came to a stop directly in front of her.

“Haven’t we met? Thorfinn Rowle. You’re Hermione Granger. Although, Rowle now I suppose,” his face formed a grimace. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her or being married or both. 

“We have, I Obliviated you the last time I saw you,” Hermione reminded him. 

“Oh, I remember, the Dark Lord was an excellent Legilimens, he broke through your Obliviation rather quickly,” Rowle smirked at her.

Hermione’s own lip curled in disgust. “Voldemort was a pestilence and I’m glad he’s gone.” She lifted her chin, daring him to contradict her. It was about that moment that she realized she was alone with this man and didn’t have a wand to defend herself. And Kingsley Shacklebolt was the only person to know where she was. She kept her chin up, but scolded herself mentally, she needed to keep her mouth shut.

To her surprise, Rowle laughed. “A pestilence?” he asked. “Yeah, that’s a good term for it,” he said chuckling. He turned away from her and began walking down the hall. Hermione stared after him until he waved his arm, indicating she was to follow. 

* * *

It turned out that her release from Azkaban was conditional on her getting pregnant. Kingsley had conveniently left that tidbit of information out when he was discussing the law with her. Hermione only found out about it reading through Rowle’s paperwork on the law. He’d left it on the desk in his study, so Hermione took the liberty of reading it one day while she was at work. And despite Rowle’s apparent joviality, he  _ hated _ her and the idea of having a wife. About a week after living in Rowle Rock she had broached the topic of sex. She didn’t particularly  _ want _ to have sex with Rowle.  _ Yes, you do _ whispered through her mind. She shook her head. She didn’t. He might be very nice to look at, but that’s just because Hermione had been locked in prison for the last five years. She was sex-starved. 

When she had mentioned it to Rowle he had turned cold and told her that he was never going to have sex with her. Because he didn’t want a child and he didn’t want a wife. Hermione hadn’t known what he meant, but reading through the paperwork, now she did. If she wasn’t pregnant within a year of being released from Azkaban, she would be going right back, to finish out her sentence. And the year she spent out of Azkaban would be added to her sentence. So, Hermione decided she’d just have to seduce Rowle. Which was easier said than done. She watched as he brought home a parade of women, each more voluptuous than the last. He had to be taunting her, right? Why else would he make it a point of marching them past the library where she spent most of her evenings. He could bring the straight up the stairs, and instead, he insisted on his silly tour of the house.

“Oh, that’s my wife,” Rowle would say as he opened the door of the library, chuckling darkly. “She won’t bother us.” 

Hermione was getting sick of it, so she decided not only would she seduce Rowle, she would stop him from bringing any other witch home. She’d spent the morning casting an elaborate new ward around Rowle Rock, just the house itself though, not the rest of the property. Rowle could Apparate anyone he wanted to the front drive, but when they tried to enter, if it was a woman he wasn’t related to, she’d bounce right of an invisible barrier. Hermione almost wished she could watch it happen tonight. Instead, she decided she would be in his bedroom, waiting for him, in little more than the very naughty lingerie set she had picked up that afternoon in Diagon Alley. 

Currently, Hermione was sitting in Rowle’s room, his window overlooked the front door and she couldn’t wait to see what happened when he brought his usual bimbo home. She scolded herself, she shouldn’t think of other women in those terms, but something in her couldn’t help it. She didn’t like Rowle, she didn’t want to be married to him, but something in her made her fiercely jealous that he was burying his cock in a different woman every night of the week. Something he’d never done to her. She shook her head, he would be soon. If not tonight, then as soon as he was desperate enough to get laid. Because, she also had put an impotency potion in his tea this morning, keyed to her. He wouldn’t be having sex with anyone at home or anywhere else. She smiled as she heard the pop of apparition. Let the show begin. 

Rowle appeared with a witch who had curly brown hair. Hermione watched as they kissed, tamping down the flame of jealousy quickly. She knew what was coming. Rowle and the witch disappeared under the portico. Hermione waited, she heard a screech of surprise and Rowle’s voice rumbling, a smirk began to form on her face as she heard another screech. It wasn’t long before the witch turned around and Apparated away. Rowle came through the door, shouting for her.

“GRANGER!” He was still on the first floor, apparently thinking she’d be waiting for him in the library. He was in for so many surprises tonight. 

It was almost a full twenty minutes later that he finally made his way to his bedroom and found her there, she heard him in the hallway and affected a pose of still looking outside. So he saw her from behind, her arse outlined by the thin lines of the Slytherin green thong she wore. She had her hair draped over one shoulder, as she held the curtain back and looked into the rapidly falling darkness.

“What is the meaning of this?” he growled from behind her. She didn’t turn around. She had called him dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb. At least she hoped not. 

“I’m not fucking you. Put some damn clothes on.”

“Oh, Rowle. I had hoped you would see sense,” Hermione finally said and turned to face him. She didn’t miss the way his eyes tracked down her body or the way the pupils widened as if he liked what he saw. “You see, you won’t be fucking anybody, but me.” Hermione smiled at him. 

“I can take down your ward,” he warned. 

Hermione laughed, “No you can’t. I can take it down. But I won’t.” 

Rowle growled in frustration and Hermione laughed again.

* * *

Rowle did not sleep with her that night. In fact, he held out far longer than Hermione had thought he could. It was almost three months since that fateful night that she had finally succeeded in her goal. 

Because nothing else was working, Hermione decided she had to start taking drastic steps. She never wore clothes around the house anymore, only diaphanous negligee’s that would shimmer in the right light. That didn’t work either, even if she did catch Rowle staring at her with a longing look in his eyes. 

The tactic that finally did work: she crept into his room in the middle of the night. He was asleep in bed, naked, a sheet covering his bum and little else. His mane of hair tossed around him as he spread out like a starfish. Hermione was also naked, she slipped her robe from her shoulders and climbed into bed with him. Gently, she wormed her way under one of his arms and as soon as his skin touched hers, he was on her. She knew this would work, this half-asleep attack. His hands roamed her body, cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples. It felt good. It felt better than good. An involuntary moan made its way out of her mouth and that seemed to startle Rowle awake. 

“Granger?” His voice was husky with sleep. 

“I’ve been offering for months,” Hermione said. Rowle still had his hand on her right breast and was stroking her nipple lightly, she wasn’t even sure if he was aware he was doing it. He lifted himself onto his elbow and hovered over her. In the dim light, Hermione could barely make out the look on his face, but she thought he was frowning. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered and closed the distance between their mouths. His kiss was demanding and Hermione opened herself to him immediately. The things his hands were doing to her body were arousing her in ways she didn’t know she could be. His mouth left hers and he began kissing down her neck, settling his body over hers entirely.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, winding her hand through his hair as he made his way down to her breasts. 

“Your tits are fucking perfect,” he breathed. Then circled his tongue around her nipple. Everywhere he touched felt as if a drop of fire were on her skin. The warmth spread, and she bucked her hips into his, needing more friction. Merlin, she needed more.

Rowle pulled back from her breast, he ran a hand up her flank and buried it in her hair.

“You’ve been the biggest fucking cock tease,” he complained as he peppered her face with kisses. “Do you know how many times I’ve wanked off to the thought of you in my bed?”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?” Hermione panted. She really was surprised he hadn’t come around before now.

“Couldn’t let you win, could I?” he asked with a small smirk. 

Hermione laughed. “If I agree that you ‘won’ can we continue this?” 

She ran her hands down as much of his back as she could reach. If the fluttering of his eyes was any indication, he enjoyed it. She was going to be out of options if this didn’t work. She was taking no chances, having downed a fertility potion and slipping him one earlier in the day. If this never happened again, she needed it to work. She was not going back to Azkaban. She did feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of bringing a child into this broken marriage, but it seemed like a small price to pay for her freedom. 

Rowle never answered her question, he seemed to have become distracted by her breasts and was laving them with his tongue again. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hermione groaned as he pulled her left nipple into his mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him to her, finally getting some relief when she felt his hot, hard length against her core. 

“Merlin,” she breathed as his cock slid along her slit. 

“Fuck, witch,” Rowle growled as he ground his hips into hers. 

“Yes, fuck me,” Hermione replied. She slipped a hand between him and grasped his dick, giving it a few pumps before lining it up to her entrance. He slipped inside and Hermione panted at the intrusion, he was huge and it had been a very long time since Hermione had felt this particular pleasure.

Rowle groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder as he gave small thrusts, working himself deeper inside. Hermione lifted her hips to meet his and he slid in a little further, the head of his cock bumping against her cervix.

“Merlin, Circe, and Nimue,” Hermione breathed. “That’s…” she couldn’t complete her sentence as Rowle rocked again, it was almost too much it felt so good.

“I am an idiot,” Rowle murmured into her ear.

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed, without really knowing what he was talking about.

“If I had known it would be like this, I’d have taken you every fucking day.”

Hermione gave a small laugh, “Well, you can start now.”

“Never getting out of my bed, witch. If I have to chain you to it,” he panted. 

“Less talking,” Hermione said as she tilted her head to catch his lips once more. 

There was much less talking after that, as they moved together to find a rhythm that had them both careening off the edge.

* * *

The following morning, Rowle had one question for her.

“Was it just the fertility potion?” he asked, as he kissed his way from her calf, around her knee, and up her thigh. “Or did you also slip me a lust potion?”

“Just fertility,” Hermione breathed as he very carefully avoided her core, the one place she wanted him to touch. 

“Better get our money’s worth then, eh?” Rowle smirked and then buried his face between her thighs as Hermione keened her approval.

* * *

A year later, their daughter only a few months old, and Rowle asked, “When can we have another?” 

“As I recall, I had a hell of a time convincing you to have the first,” Hermione reminded him. They had just laid Astrid down for a nap. 

“Well, now I gotta make up for all those months where I was being an idiot,” Rowle grinned at her as he pulled her into their bedroom. 


End file.
